Enclave Department of Parahuman Affairs
by Harry Miste
Summary: For the Enclave, the parahuman is something to be examined, investigated, exterminated. For lowly desk jockey Malcolm Weiss, it's scary. Too bad he'll be doing the investigating. Subject to Change
1. Dunwich Building Investigation

atuhor's nose: This is all subject to change.

* * *

HAD I THOUGHT about it earlier, life in the Enclave before my transfer might have made a good one. Three square meals, a roof, bedding, a paying career, and a community of like-minded people. And really, where else was I going to find an enclave (pardon the pun) of genocidal, overly-patriotic remnants of the United States government in a shell-shocked wasteland of the former capital? They kept the scrip flowing in, and I punched in keys on a terminal to show how many muties our fearless, vigilant troopers had dispatched in the last year, or pre-war knowledge about Abraxo Cleaner. Life was good, if a bit boring. Which is why, in a fey fit of idiocy combined by some cheap distillery drinks bought from a travelling merchant (who I strongly suspect had his last run that night), I signed up for a part-time tour of duty in a little unit operating south of a pre-war military base. If there's any truth to the old maxim, 'all's fair in love and war', then I am almost sure that the Enclave found a way to cheat at the latter. All the full-time grunts were equipped with Advanced Power Armour Mk. II, plasma rifles, gattling lasers; I even saw one cat at a scrapyard during a routine patrol with a Fat Man. The weekend warriors like myself were given combat armour salvaged from a massive fuck-up of a fuelling station called Navarro, assault rifles and, provided you were lucky, a plasma pistol. In my time, I became quite adept with a .44 Magnum, which helped me get past a lot of mutants in my time. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't like I didn't enjoy it. It became a nice break from my boring desk job: fast paced, exhilarating and dangerous. Fuck yeah, it was an awesome time.

And then the Enclave gave me some orders. Turns out that my perception and intuition were brilliant, almost as if I had a sixth sense. I hated the parahuman, extremely terrified. I say parahuman since paranatural no longer fits; when you've seen 40 foot tall creatures charge at you while you're fleeing from a horde of zombie knockoffs, natural is like a unicorn with a pot of gold in the lost city of Atlantis. Nothing seemed natural anymore, so parahuman became the key stock word nowadays. They decided to send me into the Enclave Department of Parahuman Affairs, or the DPHA for short. I hoped it was some kind of sick joke on the authority's part, but my order came straight from the President, by proxy through the mouth of Colonel Augustus Autumn. Two things ran through my head at that stage: _oh boy, Eden noticed me_, and _oh fuck, I'm going to die_. The good thing about my last job was that I had access to files in my work, and I'd noticed the DPHA had the most fatalities of any other department, even the "redshirts" with the Enclave Special Operations Department who were sent to get themselves killed for the good of the nation. It was designed to investigate and research parahuman activity, such as reported sightings of - get this, because I nearly fucking laughed the first time I heard this from Autumn - supernatural activity in a building to the southwest of the Capital Wasteland. I'm not talking parahuman, such as mutants and ghouls and shit, I meant poltergeists and aliens and other assorted beings of fiction. And then I read some of the reports, and I nearly fainted.

Whatever was happening there was something not even nuclear changes could cause. The Dunwich Building was once the headquarters of a mining company known as Dunwich Borers before the A-bomb dropped. That was all the intelligence gathered on the place, and it was all that was required. A scouting party all turned up missing when sent to investigate it for mutant activity, save one radioman that started spouting gibberish before killing himself with his pistol. It was dangerous, unknown and clearly insane; perfect for a DPHA recruit. So it was on December 3rd, 2277, that Private Malcolm Weiss had been sent armed with an assault rifle, .44 Magnum and a scavenged ChiCom's officer sword for weaponry; a gray trench coat over a jet black uniform (almost a duplicate of Autumn's tan coat and black uniform) for protection; a wireless radio set, PIP-BOY 3000A portable wrist-mounted device and a medical kit containing seven Stimpaks, five Med-X syringes and a container of Buffout pills. Underpowered, undermanned, outnumbered, uninformed. _Fucking brilliant_, I thought.

* * *

I STEPPED OFF the Vertibird and prepared the antenna for my radio. The antenna was lightweight, micro fusion powered and powerful. Had it been modified for regular airwaves rather than an encrypted signal, it could've been stretched across the entire Capital Wasteland and a bit of the Midwest. All I needed to do was open it up, attach it to a firm, stable surface (in my case, the remnants of a burnt-up car) and boot it up by hitting the button on the side. The tip of the antenna flickered, and then eventually pulsed into a red glow. I took out a heart-sized portable radio set and punched in the frequency assigned to me. The radio chirped in nothing but static for a few moments, and then I heard a female voice.

'_Private Weiss, status report_.' Straight to business, down to earth and all that jazz. I liked her instantly.

'I'm outside the Dunwich Building. No sign of activity so far.'

'_Good. Report when you've found anything of interest_.' And then all I heard was static. Brilliant. My only partner was an unfeeling voice with a radio connection with an opening conversation lasting all of ten seconds. My like dissolved into a grudge. At least give me some redshirts alongside me next time. I armed myself with the assault rifle, checked its ammunition status, and then opened the front door.

Routine in the DPHA calls for an in-depth investigation into each room unless you're in a combat situation. At that time, I was a rookie, so I didn't really care much for the doctrine. Instead, my attention was fixated towards a series of holotapes on a table west of my location. Each one seemed to transfer directly into my PIP-BOY when I touched it, almost as if it was transmitting its data through my glove. I looked for a suitable chair to get comfortable on. Failing to find one, I sat down on the ground, hit a few buttons and played them all in succession.

'_Why the hell would he come all the way out here?_' It was a masculine voice, of about thirty years of age, quite a tired and rugged one at that. There was no natural accent I could discern, if there were any in the wasteland. '_Dad's been a little nuts for some time now, but not like this. Leaving me in that crappy old hospital without waking me... without a goddamn flashlight_.'

'I can sympathise.' Instinctively, I paused the audio, picked up my assault rifle, fell right onto the ground and pointed the barrel at the source of the noise.

Right behind me.

I felt awkward, being on my back with a small arms rifle pointed while my enemy bore what looked like a vintage plasma rifle that wasn't even pointing at me. She _had_ to be a teenager in her late tens, no younger. She was Caucasian, had purple-ish hair from my angle cut to her shoulders, and wore scavenged rags common of mercenaries. If it weren't for the fact that she was smiling at me, I'd care less about her appearance and more about pulling the trigger. I did my best to keep firm, reminding her who was in charge despite being caught in a... umm, really bad situation. Hey, it wasn't _my _fault; I had absolutely no idea that there was another person here.

'My dad left me in a vault.' She took one step forward, and I clumsily tried to get myself up. Somewhere along the lines, my balance faltered and I fell straight onto the table adjacent myself. I pushed myself back up and - looking like the world's greatest wanker in the process - hastily ordered her to reveal her name and why she was there.

'What's a girl like you doing here anyway?' The senior card didn't really pay off; I was only five years above, and I looked a year younger than that. Regardless, I was the paranoid one with the assault rifle and the pass to Raven Rock, and she was the one wearing merc armour and brandishing plasma weaponry on her back. If she tried to take it out, I'd already have three shots to the face just waiting for me to take. All she did was just chuckle, and from the corner of my eye I noticed her left hand instinctively move closer to her holster, which seemed to have a .32 pistol inside.

'I'd like to ask you the same question. Infact, I will. Who are _you_?' I took a step forward, faking an itchy trigger finger to keep an aura of shoot-first-ask-questions-later.

'Private Malcolm Weiss, of the Enclave Department of Pa-'

'Oh,' she interrupted, 'so _you're_ with the evil bastards that drove my father to a heroic suicide.' Not a good sign, and her pulling out the feeble revolver didn't help. 'Thanks for that.' Another step forward, jittering index finger.

'Listen here, I'm probably not the one you want. Now if you'll-'

'I think you misunderstand me. My father was a failure. He left the wasteland to die, fleeing his little pipe dream of clean water to protect his only daughter by throwing themselves into the xenophobic vaults. Then he compromises said vault security by fleeing from it to work on his little pipe dream, leaving me to die at the hands of some crazy Overseer and his goons. I'm glad he's gone.' Now she was the one taking the steps. For whatever reason, I was taking steps back as well.

'Nothing I can do about that. Now, identify yourself.'

'I told you-'

'No, you listen here.' I cocked the rifle for dramatic effect. '_I _am the one with the superior firepower, _I _am the one with the superior authority, _I _am the one with superior training, and _I _am the one holding the damn gun in your face, so you better put down your little peashooter and give me a fucking explanation. _Now_.' It seemed very heroic at the time, and in retrospect I probably should've scrapped the damn bravado and shot her in the leg first. At least then I could back up my words rather than throw empty threats. Thankfully, either my wild stab at the dark worked or she saw through the little facade; she seemed to concede defeat.

'I'm here to return an overdue book. That's it.' From her rucksack, tarnished with age, she pulled out an old volume. To this day, my memory seems to be haunted by it. No idea why, but it was radiating pure evil. At least, that's what I think. For all I know, it could've been some dusty old book teaching kids how to read Chaucer. But the later machinations could only have been perpetrated by _that _book. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a chamber I need to be going to.' She began to walk off and stopped when she heard my rifle being loaded.

'You still haven't told me your name yet.' Clearly, she was growing impatient. She sighed and turned towards me.

'My name isn't important.'

'It is to me. My superiors will be pissed if I tell them that a civvie came and I didn't even tag her.' Tagging being the slang word for identifying a civilian and placing a tracing marker on them. We've probably got half of the wasteland under surveillance in some crazy preparation. She didn't need to know about that second part.

'Well then, you're out of luck.' In moves that seemed so fluid and fast that they were happening all at once, the mercenary pounced on me, grabbed a section of lead pipe from the floor and slammed me right across the face.

I woke up what seemed like ten to fifteen minutes later, assisted by my crackling radio, evidently waiting for a reply. In a haze, I feebly grabbed it and flicked a few switches. 'Christ, I've got a massive headache. What is it?'

'_Sleeping on the job, I take it_?' _Oh shit_, I thought, _it was Autumn_. I tried my best to stay awake, though the blood loss wasn't helping.

'S-sir, you startled me. No sir, I was incapacitated.'

There was an uneasy silence on the other side. '_What was it_?'

'I couldn't get identification. She's a mercenary by the looks of it, couldn't be older than twenty.' I was met by muffled sounds of confusion, at which Autumn came back and told me to continue. 'Shoulder-length hair, Caucasian complexion, about five foot ten, had a plasma rifle in perfect condition; sound familiar?' Again, more muffles. And then-

'_This is_-'

I could've recognised the voice anywhere.

'­_-your President, John Henry Eden. Where is this mercenary now_?'

This is the part where I was afflicted with shock and awe.

'Ah, ah, Mr. President, uhh, I-I have no idea.'

'_What do you mean you have no idea_?' Wasn't Eden that time, it was Autumn, his southern accent straining with anger.

'W-well, I was knocked out at the entrance by-'

'_What do you mean you were knocked out_?'

'T-th-the woman that-'

'_Do you know who she is_?'

'I don't know, sir! If I knew, then I'd-'

Eden and his calming tones stepped into the conversation before Autumn's blood pressure rose any further. '_Private Weiss, I do not mean to place any burden on yourself in what is sure to be an extremely taxing operation, but it is imperative that you understand the nature of your situation. Your co-operation may be vital to the protection of this great nation._' His voice was certainly patriotic and calming, awkward English accent notwithstanding. '_This woman you encountered... should she be the woman who incapacitated you, and should she be the woman we believe you are talking about, then it is imperative to the security of the United States. She is a dangerous felon who has escaped capture time and time again. This... Lone Wanderer is a dangerous terrorist, and I ask you, on behalf of the entire country, to find and apprehend this dangerous woman, before she evades the Enclave once again._'

It is no exaggeration to say that I was... well, I was awestruck, confused and frightened. Not only did the President contact me, a goddamn desk jockey turned parahuman investigator on his first day of work, but he was just as calm as one would think he was on the radio. Suddenly, I was being thrust into a dangerous situation _on my first day_. Surrounded by what appeared to be parahuman - no, supernatural, this goes beyond what radiation and FEV can do - elements, and now a dangerous terrorist with energy weaponry, I was going to put in a request to our techies to turn back time to a few days ago so I could run as far as fucking possible away from Raven Rock. One question still remained, though.

'Mister President, I will do my best to capture this rogue. If I may ask, why is she tagged for capture?' I expected a complete lockdown of further information. Thankfully, this wasn't any privy information.

'_Certainly, Private Weiss. She has murdered countless soldiers, cut down in their line of duty. She has been associated with terrorists responsible for the destruction of a human settlement in the middle of the wasteland. She is directly responsible for the destruction and further operation of the Jefferson Memorial water purifier, dubbed Project Purity. She is subject to incarceration in the Raven Rock Penal Institute and execution. If you do see her again, incapacitate her. As soon as possible, an Enclave strike team of seven troops are approaching the Dunwich estate and, at your command, will extract this renegade from the premises. Continue your mission as soon as humanly possible._' Ha ha. '_Autumn, do you have any words_?'

'_All I wish_,' the southerner said, '_is that this train wreck is over with_.'

'Very well,' I said, feigning as much enthusiasm as possible, 'Weiss out.'

'_Good luck, Private Weiss_. _Eden out_.'

Static. How I missed you, my dear friend. I realised I still had the holotapes. The PIP-BOY chirped once again, and the tapes played.

'_I made enough selling the meds we scrounged to have kept us both fed at the colony for weeks. Now I'm almost out of rations, my shoes are pretty much destroyed, and I'm still chasing the old coot. By my last reckoning, he was headed south._'

'**Playing Jaime's Personal Journal: Entry 02.**'

'_Maybe I shouldn't have waited so damn long to start tracking him. Trail's gone cold. Going to wander with these guys a while. They say they wander the area -- maybe somebody's seen Dad._'

'**Playing Jaime's Personal Journal: Entry 03.**'

'_These guys aren't who I thought they were. Jesus, they killed that family for a sack of rotten vegetables._ _Getting out of here next chance I can without catching a bullet._'

'**Playi**-' I shut off that auto-playing feature and stuck to manual control. If I hear that annoying monotone voice one more time I'll feed it to a Deathclaw.

'_Hit a caravan today. Trev didn't see the kid and got popped. I took care of Tawny right then, and put one in Thor before he saw her fall. That earned me some grub from the traders. Even better, they saw dad. He was in pretty rough shape, and still has the goddamn book. Trader says it gave him the creeps. Me too. But it's good to know he's still alive. Still headed south._'

I couldn't help but wonder whether the book was worth anything of value to this Lone Wanderer. I'm almost sure that's the book Jaime was talking about.

'_He must have been trying to trap food here. I recognize his snares. I can make out a building on the horizon. That must be where he headed. If not, at least I get a roof tonight._'

The Dunwich Building seemed to be the perfect place for a quick eight hours of shut-eye. I shut off the audiotape and quickly fired two .44 rounds into the body of a Ghou-wait, what?

Ghouls were coming out of the woodwork now, each one intent on murdering me. I sprinted across the hallway, noticing the perfect place for escape; a good stairwell leading to the second floor. Desperately fleeing from my assailants, I only attempted to stop when I was dispatching something in my way. Up the stairs, left, one round to a Ghoul's face, right, punch a hole through a Feral's gut, left down a hallway, and then I was pounced on by a Glowing One. It was such a shame that there were no rads around, or else it wouldn't be a challenge. I clubbed the poor Ghoul with a nearby lead pipe, its flesh scattering all over the adjacent wall. The scuffles were bringing in more Ghouls, and despite how much I wanted to control my fear I had no choice but to run.

Operating on pure instinct, I rolled out of an incoming Ghoul attack, into _another Ghoul_, thankfully knocking it over, took out my assault rifle, dived forward onto my back and emptied an entire clip into the incoming horde. The good thing about muties like these Ghouls is that their flesh is laughably weak. The bullets ripped the zombies apart, leaving only one to run absent-mindedly towards the pure-strain human. A quick-placed kick to the ribs broke two of them, sending the Ghoul in a pirouette like a delicate ballerina, smashing its head on the concrete floor. I wasted no time in running out of there, running to a door on my left, taking me to a wide-open office. The middle had been bombed out, leaving a gaping hole in the middle. Alongside the left wall was a door leading into an office. Dashing through the rubble, I moved into the room and found another Ghoul. It hadn't noticed me, so I decided to be more subtle about it and use my scavenged sword instead. All it took was a quick sideways swipe, carefully focusing on the neck, not requiring much force on account of the lack of strong flesh, and the Ghoul didn't even let out a single sound.

* * *

IT IS REALLY unnecessary in this unofficial report to point out where I went to after this. Basically, if you wanted what happened: Ghouls came out, I fucked up their shit. I came across one of Jaime's tapes, but all it did was confirm my suspicions that something was wrong. Well, that least that's the basics of it, until I went directly into the basement.

I once read in an old entry about 'mystical forces at work, by some divine force at work'. That could have summed it up fairly well, if the original source wasn't talking about a north-western team winning a national baseball tournament. But what I saw could only have been attributed to, well, divine forces at work. I entered the basement, scavenging whatever ammunition and weaponry I could find amongst the dirty ruins, until I found myself in a regular office, complete with a man in pre-war clothing, looking at me.

'Ah,' he said, his accent unmistakably of Asian descent, 'didn't know we had new visitors.' He dropped the binder in his hand and ran straight towards me. I blinked, and found a Ghoul charging directly towards me. We were about a shoulder's width apart when I panicked and grabbed it by the arm and head, twisting my body clockwise, smashing the Ghoul in the head. If that didn't kill it, nothing would. I looked around. It was the same old ravaged office. I must be growing crazier. And then I found what appeared to be Jaime's last entry, and I was glad somebody was more out of touch with their sanity than I was.

'_God help me. I found Dad today... I didn't think it was him, but... the face. The zombies didn't touch him. I think... he was becoming like them._' The Enclave would kill to have this information, if only to study Ghoul psychology in Dunwich. '_Didn't know it was him until I found that old book near him. No more killing. I just need to go. Can't forget the book. All I have left of him._' And then the Lone Wanderer took it. '_It's warm against the stone._'

What he said next locked up my body in a panic.

'_I'll just rest a while..._' In a voice unmistakably that of a Ghoul. Jaime had gone off the deep end far more than I imagined, and now he'd turned into a... no, they're not Ghouls, I'm sure of that, they're Zombies. No mistake made, these are Zombies of lore, not your average Feral. I went further among the ruins, and found myself wandering amongst the underchambers of the Dunwich Building. If anyone could listen to this and try to explain everything with science, nothing will have prepared them for something like this.

The underchambers were the living equivalents of a maze gone horribly wrong. Zombies seemed to pour in and out of the walls, causing me to use far more ammunition then I needed to dispatch your average Ghoul. I forced myself to progress, rather than my instinct to get the fuck out and run as far as possible. But I knew the troops, by now at least, would have been waiting for my orders outside. If I hadn't come back with that merc, odds were good that I would be shot. And if I showed the cowardice I fought to prevent, I'd be executed right there. I couldn't do that. I had to move forward.

This little epiphany did wonders; I was operating at full capacity and pure instinct. Most times all I needed to do was jam the barrel of the gun into a Zombie's cranium, which seemed to do the trick. At the very least, I hit the part of the brain that helps people move, and these Zombies certainly could do without moving around me. I moved forward, plunging further and further into the darkness until I crept across what appeared to be a... well, a ritual site is all I can think.

An obelisk had been erected in the middle of the site, a grotesque statue of a woman wrapped around it like a bow. The surrounding caves had all but been absolutely destroyed in what looked like an atomic bomb, but the pillar must have been put in place before the event. It was certainly that amount of decay that caused me to believe in its age. Looking at it made me feel very uncomfortable, but the man in the tattered rags and flesh, assault rifle strapped to back, didn't seem to care. I never confirmed the exact identity, but I had no doubt it was Jaime. The voice, spewing its horrible incantations, was unmistakably the one I had heard in the holotapes.

'Sharp knife. Sharp knife to send him to deep temple. Flay and say my words. Abdul comes again, on the feast of the weaker. Feast for the Deep Temple.' Jaime's mind was so utterly broken, so warped that it was beyond help. His body was a grotesque caricature of human physiology, with the strongest example being all the left ribs either broken, missing or, in some disgusting cases, pulled halfway from the flesh, exposing the bone. He was stabbing the body of a Wastelander, alive and yelling for help, repeatedly with a strange knife, no doubt some ritual to whatever fucked up god he worshipped. Each stab seemed to give the pillar some life, the stalwart monolith radiating with a gray glow. Every so often, a Zombie would appear out of a gray cloud of evil, popping out of the pillar each time. 'Born again, here.' Jaime finally conceded and took a deep slash to the throat. 'Alhazzared, G'yeth, G'yeth.'

All the Zombies formed a surprisingly well-done circle, despite their obvious shortcomings in a standardised intelligence test, where Jaime picked up the corpse and threw it in the center. As if on cue, each one walked up to it and started devouring the poor fellow. Jaime began to mutter again, and then a book flew out of nowhere, missing the pillar by an inch or two. Everybody, myself included, turned to look at the book. The Zombies clumsily rose as Jaime picked up the dusty volume with religious awe, and then held it up to the Zombies' awe. I was surprised they could display an emotion besides pure psychopathic rage, let alone develop a sophisticated taste for literature. My head turned to the source of the book, a small ledge twenty feet in the air held up by two wooden poles, where I saw the Lone Wanderer with a sniper rifle, looking like she took a crap and found her liver in the toilet. Jaime looked up at her as well, his face twisting into a sadistic glee, and pointed directly to her.

I hadn't actually known what he said. He was speaking in some weird language that was completely alien to me, but after Enclave scientists finished interrogating a remnant of the cult from some settlement up north, they told me what it meant: '_Destroy the unbeliever_!' Every Zombie hurled itself to the supports, causing the damn thing to topple and crash down to the ground. The mercenary is no good to me dead, and I was glad she could survive the fall by remembering to roll on impact. The structure took down most of the Zombies, leaving only me, the Lone Wanderer and Jaime, who was locked up with shock. Taking this as my opportunity, I pulled out my radio, and hit the dial button, leaving the two to sort out their own differences.

'This is Private Weiss,' I yelled, '_all_ Enclave troops in and around the Dunwich Building are to proceed inside and to rendezvous with me in the basement at once. _No questions asked, _and for Eden's sake and mine, bring some heavy firepower.' Expecting some questions, and a lack of time, I disconnected, dropped the radio and grabbed my assault rifle. I charged directly towards the two, almost sure I yelled something reminiscent of a war cry.

Jaime took the opportunity to duck out of the way, dodging the bullet intended for him. The Lone Wanderer ran towards the book, only to be stopped by a bullet from Jaime's assault rifle. It didn't do much, just grazing the leg, but in that second she tripped and fell down, her hand just inches away from the book. Jaime ran towards it, crushing the mercenary's hand with his foot, took the book and threw it as far away as possible. I took three shots, all hitting directly into Jaime's stomach. He didn't seem fazed by it, turning his attention and gun towards me, and taking shots of his own. I dived down onto the ground as fast as possible, keeping as much suppressing fire on Jaime as possible. The ascended Zombie ducked among the pillar and tried firing blindly in his own suppressing fire. He was firing twenty feet away from me, giving me time to get up and try to ambush him. I ran around the pillar, took out my revolver when I noticed I had half a clip left for the assault rifle, and took one shot into the head. Jaime, in a feat of pure luck, blocked it with his assault rifle. In my luck, the assault rifle was close to breaking, and the bullet's trajectory went slightly down. The bullet hit an artery, causing a fountain of blood to squirt out of his neck. Jaime kept his right hand on the wound, trying to compress it as much as possible. From his holster, he produced a ChiCom pistol, taking one shot. The bullet hit my shoulder, just stopping short of the bone, as all scavenged firearms seemed to do with me, but certainly hurt like hell. The Lone Wanderer, Stimpak case and book in left hand and .32 revolver in right hand, took the opportunity to shoot the bastard in the calf, toppling him like a house of cards, only bloodier and with more loss of flesh. Jaime writhed in pain unlike me, thanks to medical intervention with one of my Stimpaks, and the Lone Wanderer threw the book onto the pillar. The volume, in what can only be described from a term I once found among a pre-war database of information, burnt to a crisp out of nowhere. _Deus ex machina_. The mercenary and I looked at each other; hoping whatever happened here would end.

'The _Krivbeknih_, a tome of pure evil.' The Lone Wanderer couldn't help but smile in her own satisfaction. 'I think my biography will take its place.' She was about to walk out until she heard the sound of a gattling laser launcher operating, turning her head towards me. The cavalry had arrived, clad in Power Armour and with heavy firepower, as I requested. And then there was the guy in the jet black overcoat with his .44 Magnum.

'You're coming with us.' I moved forward, trying to get her before she tried to escape. The troopers moved forward as well, eyes sharply focused on the mercenary. 'Don't try anything.'

The Lone Wanderer shook her head. 'Really, Mr. Weiss, you don't get it. You know who you're working for?'

'The United States.'

'Wrong. Try aga-'

The lead soldier, a burly man with a rocket launcher, interrupted her. 'He is right. Now, you will surrender, remove your weaponry and come with us.'

'Abdul,' and everyone looked at Jaime, kneeling towards the obelisk. His face was twisted into pure ecstasy. 'Abdul is coming.' His head exploded in the realisation, and I don't mean metaphorically. Abdul, whatever the fuck that was, was a disturbing creature. It took over Jaime's body, sprouting mutations from every known orifice in the human body, until it left a grotesque figure of a Zombie. Everyone, and I mean _everyone_, had been shocked. The lead soldier didn't last this way for longer, launching a barrage of attacks on the creature. '_Go, Private Weiss_,' he shouted over the chaos, '_we'll distract it_.' Abdul charged towards the fire, slicing a plasma gunner's armour and _devouring the human inside_. His radio, in what can only be described as pure luck, slid directly to me. Instinct drove me to pick it up and run out of here as far as possible. There was an exit directly behind me, which I hoped would lead me out into the Wasteland. That dull, dreary, destroyed, desolate wasteland.

And it did. Curiously, there was a Vertibird waiting outside, rendering the radio useless in my plan, its pilot apparently waiting for me. 'Yo,' he called out, 'just you?' He climbed into the cockpit and fired up the engine. I entered into the passenger side.

'Yes,' I said, trying to fight back the tears of leaving five good men to their deaths, 'just me.'

I asked him if I could use the radio in the passenger's engine, to which he obliged quite happily. I phoned in the line of my commanding officer, Autumn himself.'_Vertibird Alpha-Romeo 227, report in_.' I was glad to hear that voice again.

'Order an orbital strike on the Dunwich Building.' Autumn seemed to bleed disappointment from the ambience into my ear, and I was cut directly into the President's office.

'_Ah, Private Weiss, how did the mission go_?' If only he knew.

'Sir, I request an orbi-'

'_I heard perfectly well, Private. I'd just like to ask about the mission_.'

'Sir, there will be time for that at the debriefing. It is of vital importance that this happen.' I was in paranoia and pain, pleading the remnants of a broken nation to nuke a building off the face of the earth to prevent some abomination from existing. There was an uncomfortable pause.

'_Understood. An orbital strike will be initiated at once._' I loosened up in relief. '_What of the reinforcements_?'

I mustered up enough courage to say the words. 'Dead, most likely. They died protecting me from... I'll explain it at the debriefing. It's... just know they died doing their fullest to this country. To this world, possibly.'

'_To this world?_' Eden seemed to be just as confused as I expected. '_What about the Lone Wanderer? Did you capture her_?'

Silence.

'Oh, _fuck_!'

* * *

THE UPPER ECHELONS were forgiving after explaining all the shit I went through. Dunwich was obliterated following my return to Raven Rock, hopefully exterminating Abdul along with it. Evil being or not, nothing can survive a blast of pure energy like an orbital strike.

And just like that, life went on. The Enclave expected me to be as shook up as one can get, so for two weeks I was regulated to a desk job. Word got out about the operation, and I ended up pretty famous. Some refused to acknowledge the existence of Abdul, though five courageous, deceased troopers, a wanted criminal of pure malevolence and a parahuman investigator attested to this belief. I requested that the cult be further investigated, to which they obliged. A blathering fool from a settlement up north had been found with a copy of the mythos' fabled literature. The poor bastard with the research team who did preliminary readings ended up as insane as he was, and it was then decided that a massive amount of scientists would be assigned to reading and recording only one word at a time of the tome. One person accidentally read two words and went into a nervous breakdown, requiring three weeks of rehabilitation.

Imagine my surprise when my promotion rolled around. The original head of the EDPHA died in an investigation, and my status and experience was certainly worthy of an illustrious position like Head of Department/Lead Investigator. There was the usual formalities, a speech from President Eden about how I was a shining example of heroics and patriotism in the Enclave, a grudging speech from Autumn with most of the words from the last speech paraphrased, a few words from Squad Leader Curling about when I was doing my tour of duty, and even a few moments from me. Moving into a bigger office, special privileges normally assigned to VIPs, the offers of acquaintanceship by a few members of the opposite sex (and one of the same sex); they were all good, but it left me with one problem. I had bigger responsibilities, bigger tasks and more dangerous assignments.

That night, I banged my head against my new office's polished metal desk several times, wondering how all this could've happened to somebody who hates the parahuman.


	2. Vault 87 Investigation

Author's Notes On An Evil JPEG Artefact: I hadn't intended release to take this long. I had finished this chapter by my original date (December 3rd) but then I decided to hold onto it for editing.

If you want to consider this the moment in which I leap over a great shark, consider it done.

---

MY SWIFT RISE from data input guy to lead investigator for entities I never really liked in the first place was met with no small amount of admiration or, in some cases, confusion and paranoia. How does one rise up the ranks that quickly? The truth is I have no idea. Perhaps defeating a quasi-deity - if leaving five people to die and bombing the place counts as defeating - and potentially saving the world had something to do with it. Regardless, I was thrust into a world I hated, and no amount of pleading for a transfer was going to help. Out of curiosity, I requested an official promotion report, unaware of the actual name. When the bureaucracy told me I didn't have clearance, I just broke into the database and read the report for myself. Apparently, the only reason was my results in the last operation. I could've picked out the obvious reasons; my lack of combat skills, poor deduction, a fear of the parahuman (even if I didn't show it, it was there). Today, I still have no idea why I was chosen.

All of that in the past. Now it was time to live in the present. I was moved into a bigger office right next to Colonel Autumn's office on Level 2. I couldn't help but feel proud of myself when I saw the plate nailed to the door: '_Colonel Malcolm Weiss _- _Head of the Department of Parahuman Affairs_'. From Private to Colonel in less than a week. I wondered what position I'd be in two weeks. Meanwhile, the rest of the world seemed to be getting better. The Enclave was posting further soldiers on the Project Purity line, which seemed to be constantly attacked by hilariously pathetic Brotherhood of Steel squads in tin-can armour. Other than that our spies reporting a giant robot was being maintained and prepared for combat, they seemed to be little more than pests. Their outposts were being absolutely crushed by surprise Vertibird attacks. Despite the lack of popular opinion among the Wasteland's denizens, we were slowly getting there. A sweeping wave of patriotism formed among the civilians living in an Enclave underground city west of Raven Rock, Leesburg, causing a surge in the amount of new blood in the ranks. Out of the fifty that applied, fourty passed basic testing and none of them made it to the DPHA. I had about twenty men working under me, most of them resentful. _Good for them_, I thought, _I don't deserve this spot either_.

---

COLONEL AUTUMN CALLED me into the War Room about a month after the Dunwich Building Investigation, beginning my first official meeting. Around the circular war table in clockwise, from four o'clock, myself (sedated), unlucky bastard; Colonel Augustus Autumn (perpetually bemused), aide to President Eden; Colonel Henry Fogg (pleasant), head of the Department of Human Affairs; Colonel Sandra Kendricks (sleepy), head of the Department of Special Operations; Colonel-Commander Patrick Ulysses (half-drunk), leader of the Enclave Sigma Squadron in charge of Raven Rock security; and Wanda Tottenheim (impatient), head Scientist. Rumour had it that Eden had become somewhat of a recluse, drawing into his improbably-large office in the Control Room, only allowing clearance by Autumn. He was patching in via intercom, preferring to watch through the security cameras. I was kind of creeped out by it.

Autumn called the meeting to order by shooting in the air. All the chatter stopped.

'Now that we are all present,' he began, pressing a button which illuminated the table and brought it to life, 'let us begin the meeting.' Autumn tapped another button, bringing up the location of three Enclave outposts on the north-eastern part of the Capital Wasteland. 'A week ago, we lost contact with these three field bases. The officers are either refusing to communicate, or they have been sabotaged.'

'Clearly, it's sabotage,' Fogg chimed in, his voice grating into my ears very painfully. 'I know a guy from this place,' he pointed out the southern-most base, 'who just stopped talkin'. Gotta be one of them.'

'Or they fell out of our ideals,' Ulysses drawled, 'y'know, what with all the heretics nowadays.' He must've learnt English from Autumn.

'Absurd,' Kendricks said, straightening her overcoat. 'I find it preposterous to believe a stalwart member of the United States would even think of betraying us.'

'It's not impossible,' I helpfully pointed out. 'After all, there have been cases of deserters-'

'And they are certainly_ not_ the Enclave of our time.'

'Regardless,' Autumn cut in, 'that is not the concern. We believe that these are attacks committed by the Brotherhood of Steel. Or rather,' he hit another button, revealing a very familiar face, 'a third party.'

Deathclaws are some of the fiercest creatures I have ever heard of. I've no idea what they came from, nor do I care. Ferocious things, they're about the size of one and a half men, bear sharp claws, sharp teeth and (in some cases) a sharp intellect. They can effortlessly tear out someone's unarmoured throat, and it's fairly easy with their parahuman strength to tear off an arm or two in goddamn Power Armour. MK II if I may add. I seized up, garnering the attention of Autumn.

'In the meantime, we will be investigating this.' I felt like I had just been stabbed in the face. 'Colonel Weiss,' I noted his reluctance to use the title, 'we will assign your subordinate, Lieutenant Morgan, to this investigation. In the meantime, I'd like to brief you on your second operation. Have you recuperated from your last mission?'

If by recuperated, he meant _still having frequent nightmares_, then I was on the road to recovery. I nodded in confirmation, not exactly knowing what I was getting myself into.

'Just a few minor scrapes. Nothing serious.' I'd learn to regret that later, building up some fucked-up reputation of a man of action, who fears no parahuman who dares halt the Enclave's progress.

'In which case, we have a 122 that we'd like you to investigate.' He tapped a few more buttons, highlighting a small blue dot in the western regions. 122 meant something about super mutants, which was more than I wanted to know. Why couldn't I just be hunting Raiders and mercenaries instead? President forbid I shouldn't be hunting things I fear and loathe. 'We've detected numerous sightings of FEV-afflicted surrounding this area. We suspect that this is a breeding ground for the mutants.' He brought up a small datadocument up on the war table. 'Captives under the Super Mutants are being transported into here. From our scout reports, they have not been seen again.' Another datadocument was brought up, a salvaged extract from a Vault-Tec computer. 'Research indicates that the area is a vault, 87 to be precise. It was designed as a precursor for FEV testing. The project was ultimately abandoned, and the only working strain was moved to the Mariposa Military Facility in California. Oddly, Vault-Tec still kept the FEV despite this being a control vault. Vault-Tec decided to improvise and use the FEV in their social experiments.'

'Am I going alone?'

Autumn shook his head. 'Not today. You may have been lucky the first time, but certainly not now. We'll be assigning you to a Shocktrooper squadron to accompany you.' Oh thank Eden. 'Report to the armory for your load out. Dismissed.' It was a short meeting for me, and had I not been so thick-headed, I would've recognised what was going on.

---

THE QUARTERMASTER WAS a lively fellow, ever eager to help me out. She took one look at me, scoffed and handed me a requisition form while she fetched me some armour. Lovely. I scanned the piece of paper, marking down the weaponry I wanted. Sadly, the Enclave did not have any pistols that fired acid-filled rockets, so I settled with a Plasma Pistol, Gauss Rifle and Sedation Baton. My reasoning is that nothing melts a mutie like plasma weaponry and a 2mm projectile to the face. And, by chance, if we found somebody who could contribute to the investigation, 500 volts of electricity does wonders for subduing anything. I also put in the bid for three plasma grenades and two frag mines, just in case I need to lay traps. The quartermaster came back with a similar trench coat like last time, but thankfully with lightweight armour inside rather than useless padding.

'This is new,' she said, highlighting the interior material. 'The composition is classified, but it's highly durable to physical trauma.' She took out a small piece of cardboard, folded it slightly, wrapped it in the armour and began pounding on it. Nothing seemed to be happening to the cardboard. 'The material absorbs most of the attack, leaving only a fraction of the actual damage.' This may sound good, but when power armour can absorb the entire attack leaving no damage, it seems really pathetic. And this was all well and good, but something was nagging me in the back of my mind.

'Does this prevent bullets?' Quartermaster stopped banging and looked at me as if I'd asked her which end the bullets come out of.

'If you are going up against super mutants of this caliber, then the chances of these types being able to fire guns is slim.' She frowned at me. 'I thought you were an expert.'

I picked up the tan coloured Officer's Overcoat.

'Only with deities.' And with that remark, no matter how stupid it sounded, I left the requisition form with the grumpy Quartermaster went into the changing rooms adjacent the armory to change into my new overcoat and inner armour. The armour was actually quite comfortable. It didn't clip annoyingly on my skin, and when I hit it with my fist, I felt absolutely nothing. I only hoped I was right. I got out and picked up my equipment. I clipped the new ear-piece onto me, getting used to using a free-hand microphone rather than the kidney-sized transmitter. Autumn told me to report to the Vertibird Hanger #12 once I was finished.

Right there, I couldn't help but feel proud again when I saw a plate with writing etched into the titanium: 'Vertibird #12 - Personal Vertibird of Colonel Malcolm Weiss'. The company Vertibird was a sleek black airship, with enough seating for an entire squadron. Five men in Advanced Power Armour Mk. II were waiting for me outside. I never liked looking at Power Armour; wearing was fine, but there was something discomforting about the bug-shaped metal that wanted me to avert my gaze. The soldier closest to me wasn't wearing a helmet, so I took this as a sign of him being the leader of a squadron (some tradition that states that officers should be less protected then the men they are leading). He stretched out a bulging black-painted arm.

'Colonel Weiss, nice to meet you.' I extended my hand, and found that the leader had enough sense to have a loose grip rather than crush my hand. 'Sergeant Maxwell Liebermann of the Leesburg 12th, Squadron Omega. Squad leader and close-quarters specialist.' The fists etched into his armour was proof of this; it is an unwritten law that you must discern what role you are in the Enclave Armed Forces by etching a crude image relating to your specialty into the right breastplate. His was two fists, the right one on top. He motioned to the rest of his squadron. 'From left to right, Corporal Jason Ledoux, second in command, sniper; Corporal Craig Noble, heavy weaponry; Corporal Dean Paradise, demolitions and pilot; and Private Keira Ringwood, computer expert, mechanic and scout.' All of them seemed to like me on the spot, except the sniper, who was content to look at me through angry yellow eyes. 'Guess we're going to hunt some muties, right?'

I nodded. 'I'm going to assume you've never been in a vault before, right?'

'You kidding me? Ol' Dean grew up in one. It was, aww, which one... which one was it Dean?' Paradise, a giant who seemed to be more at home with a bent back and a plasma rifle in hands than forced to stand up straight and a combat shotgun, lurched forward.

'I grew up in Vault 13, born right around the time the Enclave liberated us and moved us into the Oil Rig outpost, and then Leesburg following its destruction.' He stepped back into the line.

'Guess that's enough jawin' here for now,' Liebermann said, and directed his squad into the Vertibird. 'Into the skybird, double time!' Skybird was a civvie term for a Vertibird, especially some of the older versions. The name stuck to most of the regular soldiers. We all piled into the transport as Paradise climbed into the cockpit and began the initial preparations for take-off. Noble was manning a turret at the rear end of the Vertibird incase we ran into any opposition. Ringwood began to rub her gauntlets together, forgetting friction doesn't work well with metal to metal.

'So, tell me about you,' she said to Liebermann. He seemed delighted to answer, and I knew people like him; if he didn't talk all the way through the flight I'll shoot myself in the arm with a laser pistol.

'Ain't much to talk about,' he began, ready to talk quite a bit, 'I grew up in a place called New Reno. I was the son of two Enclave scientists that dumped me off as payment for a trade with some big shot crime family.' He spat on the ground. 'Bastards.'

'Sorry to hear that,' I said.

'It's alright. All in the past. Anyway, I was raised by the Salvatores for about a decade. I was under the care of his bodyguard, a big bastard named Mason. When I turned, oh, I think I was fifteen, I ran out on a whim. By then, most of the Salvatores had been fucked up by this bigshot tribal bitch, so I fled down south to a place called the New Californian Republic. So I enlisted in their army for about three years, protectin' caravans and the like, 'till this guy from the Enclave shows up and tells me where I came from. I join them or I die.' He stretched his arms above his head. 'And so I flew all the way down to Raven Rock.'

'New Reno,' Ringwood echoed, 'isn't that the place where they made Jet?'

Liebermann's once thought never-ending smirk was quickly dashed away. 'Among other things.' He stared out the side window wistfully. 'Like body bags. The families were always in some fucking war. War for drugs, war for cash, war for war's sake. The four families'd be at each other's throats in an instant.' He shook his head. 'I don't know what's going down there, and I don't care.'

'Must've been a far cry from Leesburg, huh?'

'Got that right.'

'When you're done,' I said, 'I think we can head off now.' I was surprised how little time it took to get here. Of course, we were in a Vertibird, so it would be quick, but I was surprised when I saw we were in front of a cavern. 'Is this the vault?'

Noble hefted the large Flamer in his hands. 'Nope, we have to make a detour.' Ledoux was covering us, Ringwood was already making her way inside with Paradise, and Liebermann was still arming himself. 'The entrance to Vault 87 is heavily irradiated; not even our suits can bypass it. Didn't you read the report?' In truth, I was rushed into it, as is the standard that Autumn seems to have me on. I didn't know there even was an official report. 'Welcome to Little Lamplight, Colonel Weiss.'

---

I'D HEARD STORIES of a small settlement being run exclusively by children ever since the Great War, but I never thought it would be organised. Of course, one look at the gate and three missed bullets from the guard proved that they lived in constant fear of attack.

'What the fuck, mungo?' was the first words I heard from an irritatingly high-pitched voice. The kid in question looked no younger than fifteen, bearing bravado bigger than the gun he had (a R91 Assault Rifle, if I am not mistaken) and a quixotic trigger finger. He was wearing a child-sized pre-war American Infantry outfit, with motorcycle goggles strapped around the helmet. If it were any other chump in the Wasteland, he'd be dead in fifteen minutes, perhaps less. 'Oh, it's you mungos. Look, for the last time, we're _not_ helping. Don't you get that?'

'We're not here for some diplomatic pursuit,' Ledoux said, 'we're here to get into Vault 87. If our intelligence is correct, there is an entrance around this point. Are we correct?'

The kid raised his oversized assault rifle, planted firmly on the only unarmoured guy in the party. My hands instinctively began to feel the plasma pistol in my holster. 'MacCready says nobody gets in, especially stupid mungos in trash cans.' Trash cans being a derogatory term for the power armour the Enclave foot soldiers bore. 'One mungo is bad enough.'

'I'm sure MacCready is very wise about survival, but-'

'Damn right I am,' the kid cut in, lurching slightly forward, 'and if I know anything about mungos, it's that they can't be trusted. Least of all bugmen.' Another reference to our power armour. People must have been working overtime to come up with such clever nicknames. 'So how about you go away before I blow your fuckin' brains out?' I came pretty close to decorating the gate with offal, and I could've sworn I heard Paradise cocking his shotgun before MacCready began talking again. 'Seriously, do you mungos fucking get it? We don't want you here now, we didn't want you before, we don't want mungos ever, and we don't want to work with them.'

'Kid,' I said, 'we're not here to talk relations over some Nuka-Cola-'

'Oh, _now _I get it. You wanna kill us, huh? That's why you brang all that heavy firepower?' MacCready hit a button near the gate, which I assumed signalled off some sort of silent alarm for reinforcements. 'You better start runnin', 'cause they're coming for ya now.'

'Oh, what are you going to do with your little BBs and peashooters?' Ringwood was getting far too close to shooting somebody, her hand trembling with the 10mm pistol equipped. 'Poke us to death?'

'Ringwood!' Liebermann snapped as he slapped her pistol down. 'The last thing we need is unnecessary collateral.' He turned to MacCready. 'What do you want?'

'For you to leave us the fuck alone, that's what!'

'Do you know where Vault 87 is?' I asked. Another kid, a girl about the same age as MacCready wearing a pink dress and a sawed-off shotgun, ran up the stairs on their side of the gate and took aim where MacCready was pointing.

'The Vault? Why the fuck do you wanna know? All that's left is big monsters.' Well, at least this wasn't such a fruitless endeavour. Provided that the kid wasn't talking about Yao Guai, Deathclaws, Giant Ants, Radscorpions, Mirelurks, Ghouls, Mole Rats, Radroaches, Centaurs, Raiders in big armour or Mad Brahmin, then he was talking about Super Mutants, confirming some sort of parahuman activity. That would've been good enough for me, but people have to go further.

'We're tasked to investigate and eradicate any Super Mutant threat inside the Vault.' Two more kids showed up with ChiCom pistols, the literal peashooters of the Wasteland. 'All we want is to enter there.'

MacCready scoffed. 'There's a fucking front door, stupid mungos. Go through that.'

'You first, kid.' Ledoux said. 'I wonder how long it will take for the radiation to kill you. I'm betting half a minute.'

'Oh no,' Noble said, playing along, 'less than that.'

The alleged leader was still looking and aiming firmly at us, and by us I mean me. I shrugged. 'If you want, you can cover us with your guns. We promise we won't do anything even remotely homicidal to your settlement.' Just to assert my rank over some of the more twitchy members, I turned my gaze to Ringwood and Paradise. 'This means you two. We are honoured guests in Little Lamplight, at least we will be if the leader's smart enough.' MacCready and his cohorts still had their guns on me, and I still had my ever-piercing gaze on them. For the briefest moment, I saw a small twinge of defeat on the soldier wannabe, which he quickly covered up by cocking his assault rifle.

'And what if we say no, mungo?'

I took a quick glance at Noble's Flamer, making sure I spent long enough so MacCready would notice. 'Then we have other methods of persuasion at our disposal. Our authority gives us the right to... misplace those who don't obey our commands.' I liked the little pause; terribly cliché, from what I have read in pre-war fiction during my time as a desk jockey, but it seemed effective. MacCready's eyes widened when I turned to look at him again, and with a heavy heart he hit another switch that opened the gate. His group ran down the stairs, weapons firmly placed on me. 'It's great when we can work out a compromise.'

'Eyes forward, you dumb mungo,' the girl with the shotgun said.

'Keep your guns on them,' MacCready said, circling around and leading us by the back. He herded us inside to the atrium, which seemed far from impressive. There was a building supported by stilts with a sign saying 'Souvenir Store', a building to the right that said 'Restrooms', and a sign to the furthest down that said 'Murder Pass'. MacCready turned me around to face him and the rifle dangerously close to my heart. 'There are two options you got, through Murder Pass or the other door.' I didn't like the sound of the first option, and I was all too eager to choose the second until-

'Can we get more information?' Noble said, annoyed that he was forced to turn off the Flamer during our temporary captivity. MacCready sighed, as if we were asking the most obvious question in the world.

'You got Murder Pass. There are big, scary monsters there,' (at this point I could not help but notice that there wasn't even a shred of sarcasm in that statement), 'and there's a door that goes into the Vault. We used to do that when we were scavving before...' MacCready trailed off, scarcely containing a sob which transformed into an angry cough. 'Then there's another door in the Great Chamber, but that's broken. Not even Joseph can fix it.'

'Who's Joseph?' Ringwood asked.

'None of your business, mungo.' MacCready spat, far too hostile for his own good. 'Now, what'll it fucking be?'

It was my turn to sigh. 'You've got real anger management problem-'

MacCready fired. The bullets whizzed dangerously past my head as Paradise tackled the de facto leader in a late attempt to save me. My squad formed a small circle around me (sans Paradise, who was holding down the squirming MacCready) to protect the leader. The power armour would absorb a majority of the bullets, so any attempts of resistance would be a frugal invitation to die. Despite the fact that we were outnumbered by the kids, we had the superior technology and training. If we chose to - and believe me, the Enclave isn't above mass slaughter of heretical towns - we would have obliterated Little Lamplight with no casualties. MacCready was trying to spout obscenities directed at me; the Little Lamplight citizens had whatever weapons on hand pointed at the circle of protection and my squad members aiming their weapons all around.

'_Fucking shoot them already_!' MacCready was asking for trouble. Everyone prepared their guns to be fired-

'Hold your fire, squad.' My voice was calm and clear over the angry murmurings of the Lamplighters. 'The last thing we need are dead kids on our hands. Even if they're trying to bring it upon themselves.' Paradise had one gauntlet over the mouth of MacCready, and would have gladly covered the kid's nostrils at a moment's notice. 'We'll take the safe road and go through the Great Chamber.' And give me a reason to avoid as many Super Mutants as possible. I nodded to Paradise, who let go of his grip on MacCready's mouth. He was trying to pierce my very soul with a weak stare, to which I was internally laughing at. He loosened up. 'Lead the way.'

---

JOSEPH WAS SURPRISINGLY helpful; being what I thought was the only person not afraid of adults. 'I don't believe in what you guys do,' he explained, 'but maybe this can help with our scav teams.' The Great Chamber was merely multitudes of freestanding rock platforms connected by weak wooden walkways. I was afraid that it'd collapse under the weight of the power armour, but it seemed to support it. Barely.

The young boy led us into a fusion reactor room, where Joseph tapped a few buttons to get the place up and running again. The door was locked via computer terminal, with no visibly possible way of opening it by brute force. 'That's as far as I can go,' he said, 'you'll have to do the rest.' I nodded in approval.

'Thank you. You've been helpful.' The comment didn't seem to make him any happier; he just shrugged off the comment and walked away. 'Ringwood, get it open.'

'Roger,' she said, drifting towards the terminal and inputting various commands that made no sense to me. I know as much computer skills as the next person, but I knew fuck all when it came to the more advanced hacking concepts. Ringwood danced through the data and, in less than two minutes, opened the door. 'Fixed.' She smiled at her satisfaction as I nodded approvingly.

'Beautifully played. Now, if we can get inside, we'll begin the official exploration.' I took out the pistol, started warming it up and walked inside. The squad was following behind me, evident that they wouldn't care if a Super Mutant ambushed me from further forwards. We entered through a maintenance entrance leading us into a larger power generator, which seemed to power the entire Vault. The walls were covered in rust and blood, both blending into the scheme of primary colours that composed the Vault. We walked down a flight of stairs, turned right into the main atrium of the Vault. Inside, the scattered remains of human corpses littered the floor. Ringwood was wearing a helmet yet you could tell that she was sickened. She began to wretch silently.

'Part of the job, kid,' Ledoux said, 'live with it.' His inspiring words did nothing to help the poor girl, who nearly threw up at the sight. 'Kind of a far cry from your Vaults, eh Dean?'

'I don't remember this Vault layout.' Paradise shrugged. 'Must have been a Vault-Tec thing.' I crept over to investigate a relatively intact corpse, to se-

'_Die_!'

Oh shit. I raised my Plasma Pistol and turned around to see a Super Mutant with a sledgehammer raised above its head, and then I saw a flash of light and the head was no longer attached to the body.

'Contact, three-o-clock.' Noble was unnervingly calm, considering the circumstances. He was slowly walking towards an incoming horde, dousing them with flames. Ledoux and Paradise were keeping me covered while Ringwood tried to get me into a safe place. I was keeping her safe by blasting off the heads of muties with my plasma pistol. You might be asking, 'hey, Weiss, why the fuck are you using a pistol when you've got a damn M72 on hand?' Well, the Gauss Rifle is certainly extraordinarily helpful in situations like this, but it eats 2mm bullets pretty quickly. I wanted to preserve as much as possible in the event we ran across something more dangerous, and a well-aimed shot to the head always killed something for me. A suicidal mutant charged towards Ringwood with a live frag grenade in hand. In a swift motion, she took out her pistol and took two shots to the grenade. The first one hit the grenade. Shards of metal and a mutated hand flew all around the atrium as the mutant was writhing in pain. Ledoux finished him off with a well placed headshot. Ringwood and I ran towards an upturned desk near the Vault medical room and took cover.

'Contact, eleven-o-shit, on your three, Ringwood!' We both turned to see two Super Mutants with a hunting rifle in each hand aiming for us. Instinct kicked in as I dived out of the way of the shot, taking my own chances and letting someone deal with it. Both of them came toppling down as Paradise took them both out with a well-placed shotgun burst to the backs. I scrambled up to find myself walking directly into another trap. Another incoming squad of muties was charging in through the second floor, armed with nothing but blunt axes.

'Oh, fuck this!' I screamed as I rammed the closest Super Mutant near me with my shoulder, sending us both toppling over. The mutant let go of his axe, which by way of nothing short of luck, was driven into the face of the strongest. He started to writhe in pain, dislodging it and sending a fountain of blood all over his partner's eyes, blinding him. Noble did the rest of the work by torching them. Ringwood stepped on the mutant I tackled right in the neck, breaking the windpipe.

'Shit, there's too many!' Paradise was panicking under the pressure. 'Fuck, fuck, we gotta move!'

'Through here!' Ledoux ran up a flight of stairs behind him. 'I-no, no, _no-_' I heard a sickening _crack_! through the radio, and then there was silence on his end. Another Super Mutant charged through carrying Ledoux's corpse by the now-exposed hair, flinging it towards Paradise. The corpse collided, tossing him over the makeshift barricades he was hiding against. Noble was caught off guard for a brief moment, and that was all that the mutant who charged through a side door to throw a grenade. Noble saw it, and then he saw nothing more as the grenade went off in his face. The helmet should have taken most of the damage, but it didn't. His head exploded just as easily as the kamikaze's hand did. Paradise was struggling to get up as the Mutant jumped on his chest feet first, crushing his lungs under the weight of the power armour. Ringwood was going crazy, spraying her pistol in all the entrances. I caught a glimpse of a Mutant taking aim with an assault rifle as I took aim and fired first, melting his chest into viscous green goo. Ringwood took out the last two mutants with surprisingly well-placed shots, and that was it. The battle was over. I tapped on the earpiece, patching me into Enclave Raven Rock Command Channel #4.

'_Colonel_?' From here on out, I was addressing directly to Autumn. I'll miss that non-caring radio support.

'We've come into contact with definite super mutants. Casualties are three: Paradise, Noble and Ledoux.' I looked over the battlefield, and then muttered something reminiscent of 'oh fuck'. 'Liebermann is MIA, possible desertion.' In retrospect, I never noticed him on the battlefield at all. In fact, I didn't think he even entered the Vault.

'_Excuse me_?' Autumn was, as you'd think, less than impressed. '_I leave an entire squadron under your command, and four soldiers are already dead_?'

'Well, there's always the missing guy-'

'_Who is dead the instant we find him._ _You have two hours to complete this investigation, or the penalty of a court martial for your actions, Colonel Weiss_.'

'Well,' I said, attempting to get out as fast as I could, 'I did. I've confirmed Super Mutants are inside this vault. We don't have enough firepower to eradicate every mutant here.'

'_Then don't_,' Autumn replied, '_find another way to kill them all_.'

'Sir, with all due respect, the first thing I need is more troops.'

'_So you can find a way to kill them? Weiss, you blew your chance the instant you told me about this. Good luck getting someone to give you more men._'

'Vaults weren't built with self-destruct sequences. We'd never-'

'_Stop your whining and do your job!_' I was taken aback; Autumn was usually cranky, but never outraged. '_The _very last _thing I need right now is complainers like you! Do you want to have your rank revoked? Do your damn job, and get back the G.E-_' He stopped himself, but I knew what he was talking about.

'You mean the Garden of Eden Creation Kit?' I'd heard of it before; a few Vault Requisition Dataforms get handed into my office every once in a while when I was still pushing buttons on a keyboard. It was almost fantasy in a way; a terraforming module created by Future-Tec that seemingly made life out of nothing. It was built with a basic replicator unit, holodisc reader with selections from the Library of Congress, and a little pen flashlight, as well as a kit for tending to the newly-developed land.

'_Irrelevant. We already have six modules anyway. Continue with the mission_.'

'Sir, I-' Autumn cut off transmissions, and blocked me from any further communication. Was he trying to kill me?

'So,' Ringwood interrupted my thoughts, 'we're screwed.' I gulped.

'For lack of a better term, pretty screwed.'

---

RINGWOOD AND I wandered through the Vault, looting rooms for any possible way to finish off all the Super Mutants. After the skirmish in the atrium, most of the muties thought fresh meat was where the battle occurred, so we encountered little resistance wandering around. Occasionally, there was the group of three with firearms, but we stuck to running like hell in that situation.

After ten minutes of pacing around in circles, we finally came across the Overseer's Office. Sadly, most of it was trashed, and the only things we saw intact happened to be a backup terminal. At least, I thought it was a backup terminal. The computer wasn't even highly protected, taking Ringwood all of three seconds to crack it. The terminal was just a backup of the Overseer's files, none of which actually helped. We were both angry. The Enclave led us on a suicide mission for no purpose other than to investigate, and now they were changing the rules. _Do they do this to all their new officers? _I thought as Ringwood motioned towards the window. From there, I saw a lone Super Mutant dressed in the tattered remnants of a Vault jumpsuit. Scarier was the big Super Sledge it was holding in its right hand, and the briefcase in its left. I fought down an impulse to send my partner flying through the window to distract it.

'Oh no,' I heard myself say, 'this is not good.' I wasn't entirely aware if I was speaking what I'm sure Iwas thinking, but what scared me more about the mutie was its friend. A young woman in mercenary's attire.

The Lone Wanderer.I prepped my Gauss Rifle, which would have easily pierced through the reinforced glass window, and took aim. She was peering around the ground floor, surveying the area with a rifle. I'd seen those before, on photos of a place called Point Lookout a year ago. I heard it's a nice place for an adventurer.

I fired, blasting the mutie's head wide open, and turned around, taking cover behind a wall. Ringwood followed suit, and we both waited.

Waited.

Grenade.

We both took cover as the plasma grenade tore out a good chunk of the opposite wall. Ringwood began to blindly sweep the atrium with bullets, which she was sure would send her target to death. The 10mm rounds weren't going to help, so I chucked two of my plasma grenades into the atrium to help her. They exploded in a satisfying crackle and explosion as I turned around, dropped my Gauss Rifle and dropped down onto the floor, landing hands and feet first on some glass. I was glad for the gloves. I drew my plasma pistol and turned around to see the Lone Wanderer with a rifle in my face. I knocked the rifle's barrel away from me as she fired into an overturned table. I was about to fire a clear shot into the head before she knocked my gun away, kneed me in the face and kicked me onto the ground. Ringwood took another shot with her pistol, barely missing the Lone Wanderer's head. The Lone Wanderer looked up to see the power armoured soldier and tossed another grenade. A blue sphere erupted, blasting Ringwood to the end of the office. The power armour would have been damaged from the pulse grenade. I drew the baton out while she was distracted, hoping to get a good hit in, but as usual she was too quick, punching me in the ribs. The baton slid across the room as she ran to take cover behind a desk. I struggled to get up, feeling around my overcoat for a weapon before realising I had none. I was completely naked, weapon-wise.

'Private Weiss, wasn't it?' She was mocking me, the bitch.

'It's Colonel, now.'

'Oh, you got a promotion?' I didn't notice that she could use the shadows to her advantage, slipping in and out of the darkness as if it were clothing. 'So quick, too.' She could've been anywhere, or everywhere. 'And so... prestigious.'

I saw her out of the corner of my eye, sneaking around me with a knife. I ran towards the entrance, hoping I'd be faster. Instead, she became impatient and charged at me, knife pressed up against her side. I rolled out of the way and tackled her to the ground, knocking her off balance and sending her knife down to the ground. I decided to make it fair as I kicked it away from her, letting the Lone Wanderer get up. She began to smile.

'I suppose you and I have unfinished business?'

'I suppose so.' Then I tried to punch her, but she grabbed my hand and pushed me into a desk. My knee blocked the travel, nearly dislocating it in the process. Every punch I threw would either miss or be parried, but it was reciprocated. She couldn't land a punch either, missing or me countering it. I didn't care for being on the offensive, I just wanted her to tire out until Ringwood woke up (if she ever did) and take a clear shot or if I could kill her first. We spent three minutes fighting like that. Fighting with the same skill, the same moves, the same strength, the same agility. It was like watching a clone of yourself. Knowing that I wanted her to make a mistake, I began to taunt her four minutes into the fight.

'I thought the wasteland's most dangerous inhabitant would be a better fighter,' I said as I was protecting myself from a volley of punches. I was getting to her; the last punch was a bit sloppy. 'I wasn't expecting such weakness!' That got her angry for some reason. She tried to kick me in the ribs, telegraphing it so loudly that I dodged it and punched her in the side of the neck. It was potentially lethal, and it nearly had an effect. I saw her beginning to fade, but her perseverance prevented her from passing out. Taking my opportunity to escape, I ran towards where my baton was, but I felt a searing pain in my right ankle halfway in my pursuit, She'd taken out a second knife and thrown it. My right leg was immobilised, hurting every time I tried to move it. The Lone Wanderer was clutching her bleeding rib. I tried to get a Stimpak from my coat, but then she approachedand twisted the knife. Imagine the worst pain you can think of that would happen to your ankle. This was worse. By sheer luck, she'd managed to get in between my joints.

'Ah, so much better.' The Lone Wanderer winced as she said the words, taking my Stimpak and injecting it into her neck. Her wound was near boo-boo levels in comparison to mine. 'Now, where was I?' She took out her knife, which only added to the pain I was feeling. Blood was rushing out pretty fast, and I started to lose my vision. She slid another knife in my stomach. I let out a massive cry of pain, which only served to encourage her. 'Feeling better?'

I tried to fight back, but my muscles were permanently frozen. They had just stopped functioning. I had enough willpower to speak and move my head. 'W-w-'

'Why?' At first I thought she was going to be merciful, but then she jammed the knife in my stomach back in. 'Because I can.' And she took the knife out and left me to bleed.

---

TIME SIMPLY STOPPED as I saw her face melt into the brown rust of the Vault. I heard a scream, and then nothing. The world went black as my five senses were silenced. Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

A voice.

**abdul**

And another one.

**he comes to feast**

And another one.

**weiss**

And another one.

**g'yeth**

And another one.

**weiss weiss weiss weiss weiss weiss** **weiss weiss weiss** **weiss weiss weiss**

And I saw an abomination. It was not the abomination that I deterred two weeks ago. It was a city of them. A city constructed on death. Bone and flesh bound together formed the buildings, blood and marrow oozing out of them. The seas were black, a viscous oil that was splashed on many of the macabre structures. There were very few living denizens; corpses littered the streets. I saw what can only be described as a daemon, an entire inch of its back torn off by unknown forces, drag itself with its purple claws, leaving a trail of the black blood.

I must've been going crazy. One final hallucination to end my pathetic life. I was on the ground, looking down. There was an antiquated gun, rusted and blood soaked, but I took it. My ankle seemed to be fine, but it hurt to walk. My entire body tried to stop me. I walked regardless. I checked the gun. There was a clip inside. Nine bullets. I looked over at the creature, struggling to survive. I took aim and fired once. Its eyes bulged in fury, and then sunk down. It had no distinguishable features other than purple rimmed eyes, but I am sure that it was in peace. I kept walking. Behind me, a tidal wave of the black substance washed over a statue of a skeleton horse. I could hear the creaks as the bones snapped off. I assumed it was a tidal wave. For all I know, it could have been a substance cannon, a massive water gun. I didn't care. I moved on.

I walked. I walked and saw the carnage. Other residents, walking wistfully like I did. Other residents, being torn to shreds. I walked until my legs could take no longer and I collapsed. I looked forward, and I saw myself, being ripped open by a creature I could not even think of in my worst nightmares. Instinctively, I took a shot at the creature.

My clone's head exploded as he let go of the abomination he was killing.

And then I looked at the gun again. It still had a few bullets left.

I put it up to my temple.

Fuck it.

---

I SNAPPED BACK into the realm of the living.

I crawled my way towards the pistol Ringwood had dropped in the explosion. I prayed that it connected. It did, right in the left arm. The Lone Wanderer looked at me in confusion and anger, not until I heard another sound.

'Contact!' I heard as an Enclave trooper rushed in, firing a tranquiliser dart that knocked out the Lone Wanderer. A squadron of what I thought was Sigma troops rushed in as Autumn and Ulysses casually strolled into the atrium. Autumn was tending to the Lone Wanderer while Ulysses tried to help me up.

'Holy shit, buddy, you're hurt. Medic, get him patched up.' The soldier next to him nodded, and began to bandage my wounds with a kit he'd had strapped to his chest. It hurt, but not as much as the stabbings did.

'Christ,' the medic commented on my body, 'a normal person shouldn't be living after this.' He tapped on his helmet. 'Get an emergency evac team over here, stat. One critical, in need of instant medical attention.'

Despite everything, a smile forced itself on my face.

---

I LIVED. AFTER some surgery, I was on the road to recovery. I would be in a wheelchair for a week, and then after a daily injection of a Stimpak into my injuries for three weeks it would be fully healed. In pre-war times, I'd be in the wheelchair forever. The doctors were amazed at my recovery, and somewhat confused and suspicious as to why I was still alive. They didn't bother check for my mental wellbeing. If I told them I didn't dream anymore, I'd be a textbook example of PTSD. In the meantime, a lot of things happened in my inactive status.

Ringwood died. The pulse grenade had shattered the mainframe of the power armour, and caused an internal combustion in major sections. The suit lost the cooling functions, causing the armour to overheat. She'd been cooked to death.

I was up on charges of reckless behaivour, neglect of a squadron under my care and a failure to report critical mission information. Enclave High Command, the council that oversaw all military court charges, dismissed the case. Between the prosecution's lack of evidence and half of the jury having heard the stories of Malcolm Weiss, Expert Deity Slayer, He Who Fears Naught But Fear Itself, the defense coasted through the courtroom. I caught a look at Autumn after leaving the courtroom. He wasn't impressed.

The attacks on Enclave outposts began to increase. It was determined from eyewitness accounts that it wasn't a simple BoS clean-up squad. All the attacks were done in large numbers, antiquated technology, some claiming that those who attacked were in tribal garb.

And, perhaps the most important, the Lone Wanderer was captured. Despite the fact that, by the books, I had failed the operation, I gave the Enclave their biggest pest. Detained in a holding cell until transport could arrive and paperwork could be filed to take her to a more secure holding facility, she'd been frozen until suitable evidence could be obtained. Which was easy, considering the impressive body count of raiders, slavers, traders and miscellaneous good and bad guys alike she'd accumulated in her short time span out in the wastes. A file was being compiled on her, yet only the basest of information could be found. We didn't even know her name, only her father's.

Speaking of her father, the work on Project Purity was going well. The installation of the G.E.C.K. was a harmless operation, and all that was needed was the code. It seemed odd we needed to wait so long, but I am not one to question our technical team.

'You need to take a holiday, Weiss,' said an old friend of mine from Leesburg, Daniel Smith, while he came around to Raven Rock to play a round of poker with his antiquated 52-card deck. It was a popular game when we were growing up as students, and we'd never given up on it since. I took a sip of the whiskey he'd brew every Friday, as he always did with an obsessive air. 'Seriously, there's no point on you being collateral-' He looked at his newly-acquired card, and couldn't resist not smiling. 'Shot down, my friend. I raise.' He slid some of the tokens into the pool.

'You never were a good poker face, eh? I call.' I slid the same amount in. I was still beating him with a record of 15-1 in this match. 'I guess a holiday would be good once I get out of this damn wheelchair. 'Show of hands.' I laid down my cards. 'Four aces.'

Dan shook his head. 'Straight...' He laid down a 2, 3, 4 and 5 of Diamonds. '...fucking flush.' He took the entire pool of tokens. 'Not your best day, huh? Oh yeah,' he fumbled inside his pockets and handed in a holotape to me. 'I got this in the mail, though I don't have much use for it. Can't afford the goddamn trip anyhow.'

We played for another hour before visiting hours closed down. We bid our farewells, and I put the holotape into my personal terminal in my living quarters.

'_Looking for adventure? Looking for treasure? Looking for a good place to sit down and relax? Come no further than Point Lookout_!' It was a chirpy little thing, and as annoying as one would expect. But it made sense.

Point Lookout.

Sounds like a nice place.


End file.
